


Baby, It's Hot Outside

by toewsyourheart



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Editor!Jonny, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining, Popsicle Stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny goes for a popsicle and gets a little bit more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, It's Hot Outside

Jonny’s out on the front patio of his office building, eating the last couple bites of his lunch. He’d picked up a turkey sub from the shop on the ground floor, and instead of taking it back up to his office, he looked out the window and thought, ‘hey it’s a nice day—why not?’ The patio is covered, so even though the sun’s out full force, Jonny’s comfortable in the shade, just enjoying the breeze.

He takes a pull from his water bottle and leans back in the metal chair to do a little people watching before he heads back up to finish reading through manuscripts. It’s noon, so there’s lots of lunchtime commotion, people bustling in and out of the many businesses lining the street. Jonny eyes the bakery across the way, contemplates making a visit. That place is a constant temptation, only made worse by his co-workers. Truly terrible influences as far as Jonny’s diet goes. _Especially Brent_ , Jon thinks to himself with an eye roll.

He hears the bell jingle on the sub shop door, then a familiar voice booming from behind him, “Jonny boy!" 

Speak of the devil.

“You’re too late. I’m already done eating,” Jonny replies, turning to look at him. 

Brent claps a hand down on his shoulder. “Good thing I didn’t come out here to have lunch with you then, eh?” he smirks. 

“Oooh,” Jonny says knowingly. “Off for a cupcake then?” 

“ _No_ ,” Brent says, trying to sound hurt. “But close,” he adds, pointing finger in Jonny’s face. “A popsicle.” 

“A popsicle?” Jonny repeats, raising an eyebrow. Where the hell’s he getting a popsicle? 

“Yeah, I caught wind of a new stand open around the corner,” Brent says, hooking his thumb in an ‘around the corner’ motion. 

“So Duncs told you about it?” Jonny asks, chuckling at him. 

Brent just shrugs, unapologetic about his attachment to Duncan, per usual. “Basically. You coming or not? They’re _all natural_ , I hear,” he says with a fond grin, drawing out the words teasingly. Jonny’s always complaining about Brent ‘making’ him ruin his diet, so he’s always quick to point out when he thinks he’s steering Jonny in the right direction. 

“Sure, I’ll walk,” Jonny concedes with a nod, standing to throw his trash away.

* * *

 

 

Jonny knows he’s made the right decision as soon as they round the corner. He spots the stand immediately—it’s kind of small, with a chalk board sign next to it that reads ‘Pop Me’ in artfully drawn letters. But the stand and its semi-ridiculous name aren’t what catch his attention—it’s the guy behind it he suddenly can’t take his eyes off of.

He’s wearing a dark blue v-neck and a baseball cap turned backwards. Fuck, Jon didn’t know it, but apparently he’s a real sucker for that…or maybe it’s just—God, those curls… 

They finally reach the back of the line, only a couple people in front of them, and Jonny can see now how solid he is—broad shoulders and chest, toned arms—and how blue his eyes look against his dark shirt…and his _smile_. He’s giving this lady in front of them the most brilliant grin, handing her a popsicle, and Jonny feels the corner of his mouth pull up automatically—those dimples, what the fuck. 

The guy’s eyes shift over and meet his and Jonny feels his cheeks flush and drops his gaze, embarrassed having been caught staring—his mom taught him better than that. He thinks he sees the guy smirk; though, he’s not entirely sure. 

Brent elbows him. “Jonny, wake up,” he says, chuckling. Apparently he had been talking, but Jonny was too busy drooling over Popsicle Guy to notice. 

“Ow, damn,” Jonny says, rubbing his arm and knocking into Brent with his shoulder. “What?” 

“Your tunnel-vision is showing,” Brent laughs, and then whispers, “Keep it in your pants, eh?” 

Jonny grumbles out a muted ‘shut up, Seabs’ and nudges him again. “What are you getting?”

“That’s what I was _tryin_ ’ to ask you,” Brent says, squinting at the list of choices. It really is bright out. “I can’t decide.” 

Jonny turns his attention to the chalkboard sign. He’s impressed, honestly. It says the popsicles are “fresh, local, natural/organic,” which is great… And the flavors—this looks like real deal shit. He wouldn’t admit this out loud to anyone, really, but he does tend to frequent the Food Network, and he knows innovative popsicle flavors when he sees them. There are dairy flavors: sweet potato, coconut, banana buttermilk, avocado…and non-dairy flavors: strawberry lemonade, cucumber lime, plum mint, blueberry mojito. Very interesting, unique. 

He looks up and realizes it’s their turn now, time for him to speak to Popsicle Guy. Jonny’s idly wondering if it’s customary for introductions to take place during a popsicle transaction when the guy greets them, blue eyes meeting Jon’s again. He needs a name to put with this face. 

“Hey, guys! What can I get ya?” he asks, smilingly brightly, eyes shifting from Jonny over to Brent and back. 

“I dunno—I want all of them,” Brent says, kind of sounding like he means it, still staring at the list. He’s scratching his beard, brows furrowed, like this is the hardest decision he’s ever made in his life. 

The guy laughs and tosses his head back a little, sinking his teeth into this bottom lip for a second, and Jonny finds himself chuckling too, eyes wandering down to his mouth—sort of on accident, but not really… 

“‘Pop Me,’ eh?” Jonny quips. “How long you been open?” There’s nobody else behind them, and Brent’s still laboring over his popsicle choice, so Jonny figures he has time to…chat. 

The guy smirks, maybe a little cocky. “Today or period?” 

“Both,” Jonny answers. 

“Been open for about a week now—just a side thing I’m trying out. Hours fluctuate. I opened around, uhhh, eleven today,” he says with a shrug, and Jonny sees the guy’s eyes flick down his chest and then a slow, satisfied-looking grin spread to his face. Hmmm… 

“Ah,” Jonny says, shifting on his feet, cheeks heating again. He clears his throat. “Well I’ve made my choice—I’m not as indecisive as _this one_ ,” he adds, raising his voice so Brent hears. 

“What’ll it be then?” he asks, voice low all of a sudden, like he’s thinking about more than popsicles too, and _shit_ … Jonny can’t tell if he’s the only one feeling this tension, the electricity in the air, or not, but it makes him suck in a breath. Jesus, this guy… 

“Uh, the, um,” Jonny stutters, glancing at the menu again. Which one was it? He can’t even remember now. “The, uh, plum mint, please.” 

“Excellent choice,” he says, then he looks to Brent with a smile. “How can I make this easier for you, man?” 

“What’s your best seller?” Brent asks. He’s wearing this stupid grin, side-eyeing Jonny, and he knows he’s going to hear about this exchange for weeks to come.

“Dairy, the sweet potato. And non-dairy, uh…” he says, licking his lip, thoughtful. “The one he…?” he says, looking at Jonny questioningly, prompting him for his name..?

“Me? Oh, uh, Jonny,” he supplies then clears his throat again, grinning shyly—acting bashful like a twelve year old all of a sudden. 

“Patrick,” he says back, then looks to Brent again. “The one Jonny got—the plum mint.” 

Brent’s practically biting back laughter at this point, a little shifty on his feet, too—like he’s torn between not wanting to be a cock-block and really wanting this popsicle. “I’ll go for the sweet potato, I think—yeah, that one.”

“Can’t go wrong there,” the guy— _Patrick_ , says, and reaches down to open the freezer. Jon’s watching him, sees his eyes flick up occasionally, looking back at Jonny through his long eyelashes… He grabs them out of the molds—the plum mint for Jonny, sweet potato for Brent. 

“Enjoy,” Patrick says, and their fingers brush together as he hands the popsicle off and Jonny feels a spark of heat in his belly. Fuck, he’s never been so _affected_ by another human being in his life… 

“Thanks,” he says, sounding all breathy, and it’s kind of embarrassing.

“Three each?” Brent asks around a mouthful of popsicle, diverting Patrick’s attention and breaking up then tension of whatever _that_ whole thing was.   

“Yep,” Patrick answers, smiling easily. 

“Your idea, you’re paying,” Jonny says with a smirk, nudging Brent as he takes a bite of his own popsicle before it starts to melt in the sun. 

Man, it’s good. Cool, refreshing…It’s a vibrant purple color, and he can actually see bits of plum and mint in there. He’d definitely come back even if it weren’t for the added benefit of running into Patrick again. 

“You work nearby?” Patrick asks, waiting patiently while Brent digs around in his wallet. 

“Yeah, just around the corner—at S. Bowman,” Jon answers, nodding his head in that direction. 

“Ah, the publishing house?” Patrick says curiously, biting his lip again. Why does he keep doing that? Jesus… 

“Uh huh,” Jonny says, distracted by the slight movement of Patrick’s tongue back and forth over the place his teeth once were. “Yeah.” 

“Here’s eight,” Brent interrupts, handing Patrick the money. “This thing is delicious, man.” 

“Seriously,” Jonny adds, gesturing with his popsicle. “Really great.” 

“I’m glad you like them,” Patrick says, dimpled smile bright and genuine. “Maybe I’ll see you guys back here?” and he sounds hopeful. _Please, God_ , Jonny thinks, _let him mean for more than just popsicles_ —on his part, not Brent’s, obviously. “Flavors change up a little every day,” he adds, as if Jonny needed more convincing to come back beyond the shy smile Patrick’s giving him right now. 

“For sure,” Jonny says immediately. 

“Oh yeah, guaranteed I’ll be back,” Brent says, taking another bite of his popsicle. 

“Good,” Patrick replies, and as they turn to go he calls out, “See you around, Jonny.” 

“Uh, yeah, thanks—I mean, you too,” Jonny mumbles, and wow, that was a pathetic exit… 

 

They’ve barely rounded the corner headed back to the office, when Brent finally loses it, erupting in a short burst of laughter so hard he snorts a little.

“Holy shit, Jonny, that was smooth. You sure you don’t need to head home for a cold shower before we go back to work?” he teases when he finally gets it together, licking his popsicle before it gets all over him. 

“Shut up…I don’t know _what_ that was,” Jonny says, sort of embarrassed, sucking on his own drippy popsicle. God, it really is good. He estimates he could down around ten of them. 

“I do!” Brent replies, ruffling his hair. “You haven’t gotten laid in, what? A hundred years? Got your nose stuffed in too many books, Jon—I’m telling you…Got things passing you by that need your attention—like that popsicle guy.” 

“ _Patrick_ ,” Jonny corrects, not keen on how “that popsicle guy” sounds, like he’d just be some lay. Then his cheeks heat up, because why on earth, after a single five-second encounter, would Jonny think he’d be _more_ than just some lay? Jonny doesn’t do _more_ …has never done more. 

“Oh, excuse me— _Patrick_ ,” Brent says. “But seriously, you can’t deny there was something…I wasn’t the one on the receiving end of the ‘fuck me’ eyes, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t see them. You’re gonna go back, yeah?” he implores.

“God,” Jonny groans. There’s really no telling how red his face is right now… “I might.” 

* * *

 

 

He goes back the next day. Alone this time.

He’d asked Brent if he wanted to come, and he’d just laughed in his face. “No way, man. I ain’t gettin’ in the middle of that again. Bring me one though—the, uh, banana buttermilk.” 

“But it’ll melt,” Jonny whined. 

“Not if you run back,” Brent chuckled, and Jonny just huffed out an annoyed sigh and walked out. 

**

 

Patrick smiles brightly when he looks up and sees Jonny coming down the walk, gives him a little wave. He’s wearing a pale yellow shirt today and that same hat—looks just as good as he remembers. 

There’s nobody else at the stand right now, and it’s both a blessing and a curse, Jonny thinks. Good because they’ll be alone and bad because they’ll be _alone_. If Jonny thought ‘getting butterflies’ was a real thing, then he assumes this is what it would feel like…

“You’re back!” Patrick says excitedly, with a hint of smug, Jonny thinks, when he makes it to the stand. 

“I am,” Jonny replies with a nod. He looks at Patrick a little more intensely than he intends, trying to sound less nervous than he really is. “Told you I would be.” 

“Yes, you did,” Patrick says, cheeks turning a little red. “What can I get you?” he asks, craning around to look at the sign with Jonny. “We’ve got blackberry crème instead of coconut and strawberry balsamic instead of strawberry lemonade, but everything else is the same, I think.” 

“Strawberry _balsamic_? How do you come up with all these?” Jonny asks him, still so impressed by this guy’s…everything. 

Patrick shrugs. “I dunno. It takes a lot of experimenting—just seeing what works and what doesn’t.” Then he gets this fond look on his face, eyes softening, and continues, “And I’ve got a great product tester at home.” He doesn’t elaborate further, and Jonny assumes he means a girlfriend, or something since—Jonny sneaks a glance at his left hand—nope, not wearing a ring… 

“Sure it’s not hard to find volunteers for that,” Jonny says, face falling a little. But the way Patrick’s looking at him still…There can’t be someone else. Can’t be. Wouldn’t be fair. “I’ll take the avocado, and the banana buttermilk for Brent—the guy from yesterday,” Jonny clarifies. 

“Ah, gotcha. You guys work together, right?” Patrick asks, chewing on his lip again. Apparently it’s a thing he does… 

“Right, friends—we’re both in editing,” Jonny says, wanting Patrick to know he’s unattached, wishing he’d let Jonny know the same before he makes an idiot of himself any longer. 

“Nice. Read any good books lately?” Patrick jokes lamely, waggling his eyebrows, but it makes Jonny chuckle anyway. 

“ _Good_ one,” Jonny teases, noticing Patrick still hasn’t made any moves to get the popsicles yet, so he assumes that’s a good sign. “But actually, yes. There’ve been a couple interesting ones cross my desk here recently. Local authors, too, so even better, I think…” Jonny trails off, trying not to ramble too much in his nervousness. It’s weird, though; it feels more like an adrenaline rush, excitement instead of a bad nervousness, and at the same time, he feels surprisingly at ease around Patrick, like he _could_ be relaxed if his stomach would stop somersaulting. 

“I agree. Gotta look out for the locals,” Patrick says with a grin, gesturing around to his popsicle stand. He moves get them now, and Jonny watches the shift of his muscles under his shirt as he opens the freezer, how his curls fall around his neck, into his face, a bit when he leans over…“You’ll have to tell me about ‘em sometime,” Patrick adds, and Jonny can barely remember what they were even talking about. 

He stares confusedly at Patrick for a second, noticing he’s only pulled out the popsicle he’d requested for himself (another good sign), and then snaps out of it. “Oh, the books? Yeah. For sure.” 

Patrick smiles and holds the popsicle out for Jonny. When the takes it, he makes sure to be as careless with his fingers as possible, wanting to touch him, to see if that feeling’s still there. It is. 

Jonny takes a bite, and the avocado is interesting, but still so good—maybe better than the one from yesterday. He tells Patrick so. 

“You think? People are sketched out by that one sometimes,” Patrick says.

“Nah, I like it. It’s not what I was expecting, but good,” Jonny says. _Like this situation here_ , he thinks. 

The next thing he knows, there are three people in line behind him… Time’s up. Patrick grabs the banana buttermilk from the freezer for Brent and Jonny pays him, leaving Patrick with a guarantee that he’ll see him later… 

* * *

 

 

 _Later_ , it just so happens, translates into about three times a week for the next—well, for the unforeseeable future. Jonny might be looking a little desperate at this point—or maybe like he just really enjoys popsicles—but all he knows is that Patrick never looks any less excited to see him no matter how many times he rounds that corner. 

Each visits last a little longer than the one prior, and on his fourth, Patrick greets him brightly, per usual. “Is it the popsicles that keep you coming back every day, Jonny, or my devilish charm?” he asks, all bravado, except for that little hint of something _else_ Jonny catches underneath. Optimism? Jonny hopes.

Jonny steels himself, ready to lay some truth on the line here. “The popsicles _are_ good,” he teases, then lowers his voice to let Patrick know he means business. “But I’m into both.” 

Patrick grins, ducks his head shyly and actually, honest to God, bats his eyelashes a little bit, and Jonny feels his heart fucking flutter in his chest… “Glad to hear it,” Patrick says, swallowing hard.

Jonny gets his popsicle—banana buttermilk this time, Brent said it was to die for—and pays Patrick. When he goes to leave, Patrick looks anxious, shifty on his feet all of a sudden, and Jonny almost faints when Patrick actually grabs him by the wrist to stop him, his hand hot on Jonny’s skin. “Wait,” he says, and Jonny blinks twice, a little stunned, and meets Patrick’s eyes. 

Patrick smooths his thumb back and forth once across the veins on Jonny’s wrist, and the delicate touch makes the breath catch in Jonny’s chest and his eyes go wide as he looks down to where Patrick’s hand is on him. “Could you—would you, uh, do you have time to stay for a while? Sit with me? I brought you a chair.” 

“You brought me a chair?” Jonny repeats stupidly, but the gesture hits him weirdly in the gut, feels significant. 

Patrick nods, “Uh huh.” 

“Well, how could I say no then?” He grins at Patrick, feels his eyes crinkle in the corners and his chest swell, and he sees the tension drain from Patrick’s shoulders—surely he didn’t think Jonny would turn him down? Jesus, is he crazy? 

Sitting there with him after that, chatting like they’ve known each other forever, Jonny lets himself seriously think about the possibility of _more_ … 

 

They spend a lot of time together after that day. Jonny starts bringing lunch for Patrick and he gets all the free popsicles he can eat. It’s a beautiful thing, but Jonny wants to move it off the streets—take Patrick somewhere, so many places…out to eat, to _bed_ , God, wherever he wants to go. He’s anxious about rocking the boat, though, because things are good, easy. 

Over time, he learns things about Patrick—that he paid his own way through pastry school, that he actually _owns_ the bakery across the street from Jonny’s office building. He learns that Patrick is surprisingly reserved—more like Jonny in that way than he thought—sensitive and kind underneath his seemingly boisterous exterior. 

He starts picking up on Patrick’s little tendencies as well, like the way he ducks his head and peers up through his lashes when he’s feeling bashful about something, the way his thick brows furrow when Jonny asks him a challenging question about food or a book or his opinion on something. He’s always chewing on his lips, running his tongue over them, and it drives Jonny nuts every time. He’s incredibly thoughtful and so passionate about what he does, talks to Jonny about his ideas to make his business better, improve his methods, his flavors. And Jonny’s always in awe of him… 

Jonny tells Patrick about himself too—whatever he wants to know. They talk about hockey—Jonny had been baffled to find that Patrick’s a Sabres fan—about how Jonny used to play, maybe could have made it big, but he was always more interested in books, in stories. 

And so sometimes Jonny even reads to Patrick, too, after they’ve eaten lunch and there’s a lull in popsicle stand patrons. He’d started bringing manuscripts he’s editing, just as an excuse to stay longer (he’s doing work, hey, it’s no big deal, right?), and Patrick started insisting that Jonny read some of his favorite lines out loud. 

Jonny scoffed the first time he’d asked, thinking he was just doing that thing where people pretend they’re super interested when they’re actually not. “But why? I don’t want to bore you.” 

“S’not boring, Jonny. If you like it, then I want to hear,” Patrick said, scooting his chair closer. Then, real quiet, he added, “Plus, I like to hear you tell stories, so I figure I’ll like hearing you read, too,” and Jonny’s cheeks went red. 

Emboldened by Patrick’s admission, Jonny just smiled and scooted closer, hooking his ankle around Patrick’s before starting in on the second chapter. 

* * *

 

One day, after Jonny’s retured from a visit with Patrick, Brent stops him as he’s walking to his office. 

Patrick sent him back with a half-dozen of his favorites—the avocado, blueberry mojito, and banana buttermilk—and Brent had probably heard the crinkling of the Ziploc bag as Jonny tried and failed to stroll past his open office door unnoticed. 

“Hey, whatcha got there, Jon?” Brent yells. “Come back here, buddy!” 

Jonny sticks his head in. “Got nothing for you, Seabrook.” 

“Oh, I get it— _special_ popsicles from _your_ Patrick and you think you can’t _share_ , eh?” he teases. 

“He’s not _my_ Patrick,” Jonny groans, walking in to hand the sack to Brent. “Hurry up, so I can get them in the freezer.” 

“But he easily could be!” Brent chides, pointing a finger at him before diving into the bag. “Geez, gotta ask for the sweet potato next time, Jonny,” he says absently, before continuing with more fervor. “ _When_ are you going to ask him out? This is getting pathetic. Do I need to go back with you? Stir the pot a little?”

“No! I’m handling it,” Jonny says, head swarming with thoughts of _more_ and using Patrick’s name in sentences with possessive terms like, _his_ and _my_. And Brent’s right—this has been going on for weeks now. Time to make a move. 

**

 _Today is the day_ , Jonny thinks, leg bouncing all over the place with nervous energy.

He and Patrick are sitting next to each other behind the stand—been pretty slow as far as Jonny can tell. He’d brought lunch, of course, and when Patrick stands to throw away their trash, he grabs Jonny a blueberry mojito from the freezer. 

“Thanks,” Jonny says with a grin, sneaking a nice look at Patrick’s ass when he sits back down, and takes a bite of the popsicle.

“You’re welcome,” Patrick replies, then nudges Jonny. “What’s up with you?” 

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he half-lies. Fine, but so nervy. He offers Patrick a reassuring smile and he starts chuckling, like Jonny’s just said the funniest thing he’s heard, but he shouldn’t be laughing about it. 

“What?” he asks, smacking Patrick’s thigh playfully. 

“You got blueberry all in your teeth,” Patrick giggles. 

“Oh my god,” Jonny says, flushing with embarrassment, except not really—Patrick made this damn thing, not his fault. 

Patrick reaches down to grab his water bottle and hands it to Jon. “Here, man.” _Oh_ , they’re sharing water now, eh? Jonny thinks…hmm. 

He takes a drink and swishes it around in his mouth, then bares his teeth at Patrick, making an intentionally stupid face. “Better?”

Patrick laughs loudly, and the sound is literally music to Jonny’s ears—he wants to be able to make Patrick laugh like this all the time. “Yeah, something like that!” Patrick teases, taking the water bottle back, letting his fingers linger on Jonny’s. 

“Hey, Pat, do you want to—” Jon starts, knowing he needs to ask Patrick now, then he suddenly stands and pulls out his phone. It’s ringing, apparently, and Patrick holds up a finger and takes the call. God, superb timing… 

“Hello,” he says, and as he’s listening to whomever it is respond, his face changes… From normal, to smiley fond, then his eyes shift over to Jonny and he looks nervous. It makes Jonny’s stomach drop. 

Patrick steps away and lowers his voice, but Jonny can still hear a little… 

“I’m sure you’re fine, Em,” he says, voice warm and comforting. “Oh, it does, huh?” Another pause… Jonny tunes out then, makes himself think of something else. Patrick stepped away for a _reason_ —he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. 

When Patrick comes back, he’s still grinning, but looks hesitant, conflicted about something when he looks at Jonny, and he hates it. _Who was that?_ The ‘someone else’ he’s been worried about this whole time? 

“What were you saying?” Patrick asks, sitting back down next to Jonny. 

“Patrick, are you seeing anyone?” he blurts out, tired of wondering—tired of it eating at him. He keeps his eyes down though, afraid to _look_ at Patrick and _hear_ his answer at the same time.

“No, I mean—no, I’m not,” Patrick answers. “Why?” 

Desperation alone keeps him talking honestly. “Would you—uh, maybe want to, I don’t know, see _me_? Like, away from this popsicle stand, I mean? We could just go for coffee?” he stutters out. 

When Patrick doesn’t answer immediately, he looks up to meet his eyes and he feels sick when he finds Patrick looking wide-eyed and torn. Fuck, _he doesn’t want to_ , Jonny thinks and stands suddenly, not knowing what to do with the impending rejection. 

“I mean, we don’t have to—Shit, nevermind. I’m sorry, I—” Jonny rambles, voice betraying him, laden with more emotion than he intends. 

“Hey, no!” Patrick interrupts, jumping up too. He grabs Jonny behind his elbow to still him, and then lets his hand slide down his forearm, and Jonny almost dies when Patrick laces their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “Jonny, Jesus Christ, of course I want to, yeah. Yes. Let’s go for coffee.” 

“Yeah?” Jonny repeats, blowing out a breath, relief flooding him. Patrick’s hand is warm in his, solid, and it’s steadying. He was just overreacting…just overreacting. 

Patrick searches his face for a second, hesitancy not completely gone, it seems, but when he speaks he sounds sure. “Yeah, Jon.” 

He sways forward a little, and Jonny reaches up with the hand not tangled together with Patrick’s—hoping like hell he’s not misreading this situation—and places it tentatively on the side of Patrick’s neck, tips of his fingers playing in the curls at his nape. 

“Can I…?” he asks, trailing off, and Patrick nods slightly. Jonny leans in, closing the distance between them, and presses his lips against Patrick’s forehead, and he feels Patrick sag into him a little, hears him suck in an unsteady breath. 

Jonny wants nothing more than to take this further, to kiss Patrick for real, but he doesn’t want to rush it, and they’re on the side of the street in front of God and everyone. So he pulls back and smiles softly, meeting Patrick’s eyes. “I get off at three o’clock tomorrow.” 

“I’ll have to ask my boss, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be good to go then,” Patrick jokes, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-dimpled grin, and Jonny chuckles. 

“I look forward to it,” he says, squeezing Patrick’s hand once, and turns to head back to the office.

**

 

Time drags by the next day, obviously, because why wouldn’t it? Jonny spends every miserable second in his office, getting little to nothing done, worrying over the clock.   

Brent sticks his head in around two-thirty, just to ‘check in,’ he says.

“How ya’ feelin,’ champ?” he asks encouragingly.

“Like I’m going to puke,” Jonny answers, and Brent walks over and places a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re just letting yourself get too worked up—it’s gonna be _fine_. You really like this guy, huh?” Brent asks.

“I do,” Jonny says, and spends the next thirty minutes trying to even out his breathing. 

**

 

When Jonny rounds the corner, he spots Patrick, back turned to him, and strides over until only the stand remains between them. 

“Patrick,” he says, and Patrick spins around suddenly, looking distracted. When his eyes meet Jonny’s, he looks…nervous, a little afraid. “What’s wrong?” Jonny asks, concerned, looking around for a problem to fix. 

Then, Jonny feels a light tug on his pant leg and a little voice singsong from below. “Hii!” 

He startles, looks down immediately, and his mouth falls open in surprise when he’s met with another set of bright blue eyes…just like— _oh my god_. His eyes flick up to Patrick and he looks truly terrified, mouth hanging open like he wants to speak, but can’t find the words. 

The little girl crawls out from under the popsicle stand and wiggles around in front of Jonny, brings his attention back down. She’s one hundred percent, undeniably Patrick’s. If his reaction to this whole thing and her blue eyes weren’t enough, the absolute mess of blonde curls all over the place surely sold her out. She’s so beautiful Jonny almost can’t believe it. 

It all makes sense now—Patrick’s secret “product tester” at home, his hesitancy to say yes yesterday—he’s got more than just himself to consider. It must have been this little one on the phone, too.

Jonny suddenly realizes how rude he’s being—she’s just said hi. He crouches down in front of her. “Well, hello,” he says and gives her what he means to be his warmest smile, holding out a hand. Patrick comes around the stand and she looks to him questioningly, little brows furrowed, and Jonny sees him nod. 

She reaches out and places her hand in Jonny’s—it’s so small, so soft, and his heart melts a little. “My name’s Jonny,” he continues. “What’s yours?” 

“E-Emily,” she stutters. “Emily Jacqueline Kane.” _After his sister,_ Jonny thinks. Then Emily grins brightly, and God, yes, definitely Patrick’s.  

“That’s a very pretty name,” Jonny says, then she starts shifting around a little, excited after getting over her bout of shyness. 

“Did—did you come for a pop? My daddy makes the best ones. My favorite is the strawberry lemon-lade,” she says, and the way she cutely mispronounces it makes Jonny grin stupidly. 

“Lemon _ade_ , Emmy,” Patrick corrects, voice kind and patient, placing his hands on her little shoulders to still her. “And he’s not here for a pop. Remember I told you I was supposed to go on a grown-up playdate today, yeah? This is that Jonny.” 

Her eyes light up, like she’s remembering… “Ooooh,” she says, then looks to Jonny, who’s still crouched down on her level. “I ‘member now. Are you goin’ to climb trees? Because Daddy told Uncle Sharpy on the phone last night that he’d climb you lik—” 

Patrick clamps a hand down own her mouth, pulls her into his thigh to silence her. “Oh my god,” he says, apologetic, face turning red, and Jonny laughs hard and stands. So glad to know he’s not the only one thinking about it, even if he had to hear it inadvertently from Patrick’s _daughter_.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, starting up a frantic ramble. “For _that_ , for not telling you. I just, I didn’t know how, needed to make _sure_ that you—I don’t know. And then Emily’s preschool was canceled today, and I didn’t have any way to contact you. We don’t have to go for coffee—we can call it off, I—” 

“Patrick!” Jonny cuts in, holding his hands up to silence Patrick’s nervous rant. “You don’t have to explain right now—we don’t have to go for coffee.” 

Patrick’s face falls, and it makes Jonny’s chest hurt. _No_ , that’s not what he meant, so he continues quickly. “Because _I_ think Emily would prefer the park or something, eh? What do _you_ think?” he asks, crouching down again to tickle Emily’s side a little where she’s still burrowed into Patrick. 

“Oh, yes, the park! Can we, Daddy?” she begs, turning around to give him grabby hands and he picks her up and puts her on his hip. 

Jonny stands and meets Patrick’s eyes, and they’re red, like he might cry. “You’re _sure_?” Patrick says, voice shaky, and Jonny knows he’s asking about more than just the visit to the park. 

“Of course, Patrick,” he say, reaching forward to grab Patrick’s hand and tangle their fingers together. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.” The kid is a shocker, sure, but he’ll take Patrick however he can get him. 

Patrick pulls his hand free and surprises Jonny when he grabs the back of his neck and hauls him in, pressing their mouths together (finally), Emily still firmly on his hip. 

The kiss is soft, warm—just a slow, sweet drag of their lips—and short, but better than anything Jonny ever could have imagined for their first. Patrick’s been taunting him with these lips since the day they met and now he’s getting to feel them against his own—gets to have this, everything out in the open, which only makes it that much better. 

Jonny pulls back and presses their foreheads together, and he’ll certainly give it to her—she’s patient for a moment—but Emily finally gets huffy and whispers, voice squeaking a little, “ _Psssst_. But what about the park?” and it makes them both laugh out loud. God, she’s adorable, and Jonny can’t wait to get to know her, already seeing so much of Patrick in her just during this short exchange. 

“We’re goin,’ Emmy. We’re goin,’” Patrick says, chuckling, and gives Jonny’s neck one last squeeze and presses their lips together again quickly—just once, like he couldn’t resist. 

Jonny helps him close up the stand and they walk toward the park down the street, and instead of holding Patrick’s hand, he holds Emily’s in between them and it feels like everything…and _more_. 

  

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Feedback is encouraged & appreciated; thanks for reading! :)
> 
> I can be found @ [toewsme88](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com) on the tumblr!
> 
> (There will be more of this at some point..I've been persuaded)


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